


The Vampire in Winter

by OneMoreAltmer



Series: Oblivion: Taviverse [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Anal Sex, Bickering, Bratting, Manipulation, Masturbation Interruptus, Multi, Oral Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex, Vampire Sex, Violent Fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 17:38:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14774156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneMoreAltmer/pseuds/OneMoreAltmer
Summary: Lucien's version of reality is that he is the hero: his control allows Methusiele, former Champion of Cyrodiil, to find home and meaning in a world without Gates or Martin, and Vicente to have friends and lovers in safety without subjecting himself to the politics of vampires. Vicente's simmering desire to make vampires of the other two threatens everything.This, however, is Vicente's version. And Vicente isn't feeding as regularly as he should....





	1. One

She is expecting the bite to come first:  she lifts her chin, baring her throat for me.  But I have decided to move more slowly.  We have all the time in the world.

I only brush my face against her neck as I ease the robes away, breathing in her scent, the notes of amber and cinnamon I associate with her elven blood and her magicka.  I will be adding ashes into that bouquet, and I wonder what the blend will be like.  I just touch against her skin with my teeth.  She gasps, and I can feel the little tremor go through her.

No, sweet Methusiele.  Not quite yet.

I open her shirt, and she begins to pull at mine.  Despite the beckoning softness of her breasts I pause to help her, and then to remove our pants.  All obstacles gone, I return to slow caresses.  She is panting, fingers tangled into my hair, tantalizingly unsure despite all her fire.

I kiss her.  She wraps her arms around me with a happy whimper, and her tongue seeks mine.  I pick her up – which earns another gasp, because she always seems to forget my strength – and lay her on the stone where I sleep, and cover her.  All the while we kiss, and I coax her into relaxing for me.  Even this can be done gently.  Even the turning.

Our fingers twine as I enter her.  She is soft and tight and glorious.  While I slowly build to speed, spellbound, I watch the pleasure overcome her.  The too-common unhappiness that haunts her face finally washes away, and she is empty of everything but desire.

This is the right moment.  I lick the place where the artery rises near the surface in her neck, and then sink my teeth into that flesh.  As the warm, rich texture of her blood fills my mouth, she gasps, and her fingers tighten around mine for a moment.  She whispers my name, trembling and uncertain, as I take my first swallow of her.  I cannot offer her words of reassurance, but I lift a hand to stroke her hair, and try to please her with long, deep thrusts.  The pain only lasts a moment before the effects of the bite take hold, and she relaxes again with a deep, surrendered moan.

She fills all of my senses, and I drink and pump with increasing abandon.  I can feel her mortal strength ebbing away to be replaced with mine.  My essence flows into her as hers flows into me, the exchange of the Dark Gift.

And then my reverie is broken by a knock at the door.

I ask for so little.  Bottled blood for when I cannot safely leave our Sanctuary, and a bit of privacy.

Ocheeva.  Like most Argonians, she always smells just faintly of fish.  I have never found them especially appetizing. 

“I’ve received Methusiele’s next contract,” she says.  “I wanted to warn you to be a little, hmm, extra gentle with her when she comes.  I’ve just come from putting her back together after her trip to Bruma.  I don’t think she was ready.”

I frown at her.  “What happened?”

“Memory, I suppose.  Lucien sent me to see her, and she was wild-eyed drunk and hysterical.  I think she’d been using skooma as well.”  She shrugs off my alarmed stare.  “I got her calmed down, and we emptied the place of liquor and drugs, so as soon as she sleeps it off, she should be coming here.”

I know I should conceal my frustration.  I fail.  “Lucien sent _you._   I’m the one who has been working with her.  I’m the one who knows how to talk to her.”

She chuckles at me.  “Don’t take offense, Vicente.  I think our Speaker is just feeling a little more possessive of this one than is usual.”  She eyes me cannily.  “I think you are, too.  Anyway, I didn’t do anything worthy of jealousy, regardless.  I bathed her and put her to sleep.”

Worthy enough.  I cross my arms and step away from her.  “The contract?”

“She’s to go to the Imperial City – ” she sees the protest forming in my eyes, _he’s got to stop sending her there if he really means for her to calm down_ , and raises a hand to stop me from saying it aloud.  “To the Imperial Prison,” she clarifies.  “We’re finally completing that hit on Valen Dreth.”

“He’s been in that cell forever.”  I follow the thought through.  “He was there when _she_ was there.  Do you think he endeared himself to her the way he does to everyone else?”

“I can’t see how he would have failed to.”

Perhaps Lucien has been saving him for this occasion – waiting until she was shaken and disoriented, and then giving her a more personal killing to perform, like a gift from a generous patron.  I know how he operates.  I know how calculating he gets when he takes a real liking to someone.

But she will be receiving the gift out of _my_ hands, and if pressed I will send the credit back past Lucien to the Night Mother.

Ocheeva leaves me to several hours of waiting, and I go back to contemplating Methusiele, now with the happy anticipation of giving her good news.

I like her far better than I probably should.  I liked her the instant we first saw each other, as soon as she raised her hand to smite me with her flame.  That would probably sound odd to someone who wasn’t centuries old and a vampire.  It is easy to become jaded over such a long life, and I admit that I find a bit of danger alluring.  That is also what first drew me to Lucien.  That they represent two such completely different kinds of danger makes each of them even more delectable.

Lucien has always turned down the Dark Gift, even though it would suit him so wonderfully.  I think he’s actually afraid of the invulnerability – afraid that it would remove too much of the risk he so loves to plan his way around, and ruin his game.  Ruin the fun of putting his own life at stake.  I don’t agree at all.

If he is really so very fond of Methusiele, and I turn her, perhaps together we will persuade him, and then it will be the three of us.  I smile a little at the thought.  The three of us, for centuries.  But first I must convince at least one of them to accept my offer.

And if Lucien is going to get territorial, I am going to have to be ready to maneuver around him.

She arrives looking haggard but clean – from Ocheeva’s _bath_ – and attentive.  She comes straight to me as M’raaj-Dar flees the room to practice, as he always does the moment she gets here.  I don’t know what he has against the poor girl, unless he’s jealous of her skill with magicka.  He was our resident mage before she came.  Granted, he’s always a little bit jealous of new Brothers and Sisters.  But by now he can’t really think that he can have Lucien to himself.

I reach up to brush the stray red hairs out of her face.  A casual sort of contact with which she has become comfortable.  She has accepted me as a trustworthy friend in spite of her original stance toward vampires in general.  It’s a good sign.

“Good morning, Vicente,” she says blearily, smiling.

I look into her eyes for signs of withdrawal.  I do not want to see her become addicted to wine or skooma.  No, the damage from her little binge does not look too severe.  Handled properly, she will recover.

It should have been me.  I would have been the logical choice to send to her.  Why would he deliberately –

Well, but after all, I know he was disappointed that Ocheeva did not immediately share his enthusiasm for our Methusiele.  Perhaps he did it this way to awaken her maternal instinct.  There is nothing to be done about it now, in any case.  It must wait until the next time I see Lucien.

“Baenlin is dead,” she tells me.

I nod.  “I’ve heard.  I’m sorry if it was an… unpleasant trip for you, but you did well.”  I pull out the coin purse holding her payment, and then the present I have bought for her.  Usually Lucien is the one who brings home the pretty enchanted things we give out for jobs particularly well done, but in this case I have decided to provide something myself.

I hand it to her, watch as she draws it carefully from its sheath.  “Sufferthorn, it’s called,” I tell her.  “It’s much better than the dagger you have.”

Teinaava snorts knowingly from the corner.  Lucien gave her the other dagger:  anyone who knows that will know that he would not give another this soon.

“It feels very nice,” she says.  I watch with pride as she flips it back and forth between the proper strike positions in her hand, making tiny cuts in the air.  A reflection of the training I have given her.

At last she returns it to its sheath and looks back at me.  “Do I have a contract?”

I cannot help but grin as I describe it to her, and watch the surprise dawn over her face.  She is more cautious in letting the glee show through, but I see it there.  I suppose Lucien was right to save Valen for her:  this is the contract that is going to win her heart.  I hope it will be my dagger she uses.

She spends the day with us.  I watch her make potions with Teinaava, practice her knife forms.  I watch with great appreciation as she makes Antoinetta put away the garlic she tries once again to bring from her private stash and sneak into the food.  I swear the stupid Breton is trying to kill me.

The next morning she is gone, and I am left again to my own thoughts.  This time she accepts my invitation with just a hint of hesitation.  Willing, but anxious.  I pull her face to mine and kiss her gently –

Lucien seldom bothers to knock.  Today he looks irritated.  “Where is it?” he snaps, and starts digging through my things.

“Where is what?”

“The robe you were _supposed_ to give her.”

I fight to keep the smile from my lips.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about."

“Yes, you do.”  He strides over to me and looks severely into my eyes.  “I’m told you gave her a dagger.”

“Yes,” I answer, trying to be bland.

“She _has_ a dagger.”

“Mine is bigger.”

That lovely mixture of murder and amusement in his eyes.  He likes to feel that he has me under control, but he would not love me as much if he thought it was too easy.  “Oh, I see,” he murmurs.  “It’s like that, is it?”

“You should have sent me,” I tell him.  “Why was I suddenly not good enough to send to her when she was in trouble?  Why Ocheeva?”

“Perhaps I trusted her more not to press her advantage.  There is actually such a thing as the _wrong moment_ , you know.”

“And you think I wouldn’t have been able to tell?  I’ve been a perfect gentleman so far.”  I pause, consider whether to finish the thought.  “Perhaps you’d rather I never got the chance at all.”

He sneers at me.  “Actually, I’ve recommended you to her specifically.  If she’s not ready to try you, that’s hardly my fault.”

 I never know how seriously to take statements like that from him.  He doesn’t tend to lie overtly, but he is perfectly willing to mislead.

Still.  “What did you say about me?” I ask quietly, taking one of his hands to draw him closer.

He takes the prompt, stepping in so that our bodies touch and we share breath.  “I told her how cultured you are.  She loves sophistication.”

I smile a little in spite of myself.  “Excellent.  So you do mean to share?”

“After all,” he purrs, rubbing a little at my shoulders, “you deserve some kind of recompense for Antoinetta.”

“I deserve parades and a castle for Antoinetta,” I growl.

He laughs, then pulls at my neck and kisses me.  I fall into it hungrily:  all my thoughts about Methusiele have left me full of need.  I can smell the trees from Lucien’s time out in the wilderness, and the faint clove I associate with his blood.  I clutch his hips to mine, nibbling at his lips.  He does not immediately discourage me from my roughness, and in my eagerness I leave a little cut on his mouth.

I can taste it.  My loins and my bloodlust awaken together – and that is when he stops me.

“Now,” he smiles, “about the robe.”

He times these things perfectly.  I am aroused enough to feel deprived but not quite enough to lose my ability to control myself.  I stand frustrated rather than forcing myself on him.

“I sold it for the dagger,” I confess.

“As I suspected.”  He steps away from me.  “Today you get cold blood and your own palm, Vicente.  Consider it a warning, and do not cross me again.  I may decide to keep her away from you after all if I don’t like your behavior.”

He leaves me alone with my thoughts again, which are now all of his blood.

 


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucien catches on to what Vicente is thinking, and he is not well pleased.

“Vicente?” she whispers, uncertainty coming into her eyes.  “You seem so – ”

“Hmm?” I have her pinned against the wall.  Not too forcefully.  I lean close to luxuriate in her scent, and plant a long, slow kiss at the base of her neck, a warning of things to come.  I can feel her pulse quickening.  As I kiss up toward her face I take hold of her wrists and press them gently into the wall.  She still wants to please me now, but if her survival instincts trigger I will need the extra second before she can fire a spell at me.

On the other hand, that leaves her dressed.  Perhaps it will be enough for a moment to occupy her hands with other tasks.  I bring them up to the collar of her robe.  A languorous kiss and a slight exertion of my vampiric charm override her caution, and she obeys my prompt to undress.  I follow suit, then take her hands again and guide them up over her head, so that her breasts are lifted as I press against her.

Her breath is quick and shallow now, and she looks into my eyes, aroused but growing afraid.  But, oh, it is too late for that.  Her scent is so thick I feel it gathering in my throat; I have reached that point where my lips refuse to close over my teeth.  I bend and straighten my legs a little, rubbing our bodies together, and she sighs, wriggling just slightly.  In desire, or in struggle – it is beginning not to matter to me.

“We already agreed, Methusiele,” I rasp into her ear, tracing the lobe with my tongue.  “You still want me, don’t you?”  I nudge again with the charm. 

She sighs and shudders, and mouths the word so softly that I see it more than hear it.  “Yes.”

I spin her toward my stone bed – quickly now, before she can think about how much I helped her give the answer I wanted.    She’s a clever thing.  I lay her down and spread myself over her, still pinning her hands.  Her heat rises into my body as she arches toward me:  her mind may struggle, but her flesh has decided in my favor.

I dig my teeth into her sweet throat, and use that grip to anchor myself for the first thrust.  She whines and twitches against the double penetration, and as her limbs shake and then start to go limp, her noise stretches into a soft, rhythmic moan that keeps time with me.  I can feel her skin starting to cool:  her heat is coming to me now through long, slow draughts.

Her whole body gives one last shudder and she lets out an intoxicating sigh as she begins to lose consciousness.  There will be no fight in her now:  I release her wrists and sweep my hands madly over her shape, and my pace grows erratic.  I’m going to –

His voice startles me into a much less enticing awareness.  “You’re _not_ asleep,” he says.  “Stop pretending that you are.”

My eyes snap open, and Lucien is standing over me, a bemused look on his face.

“I wasn’t pretending to sleep,” I scowl at him.  “I was thinking.  And you really ought to knock.”  How long had he been there?  Had I… given any outward sign of my thoughts?

Without knowing, he answers me.  “You were swallowing air.  Are you feeding enough?”

Was that all he saw?  That is something of a relief, at least.  I sit up, crossing my arms discreetly in front of my crotch and leaning forward.  “Of course I am.  Check the cabinet for yourself.”

“I’ve brought a few more bottles, speaking of that,” he says, going across the room to verify that there are fewer bottles than the last time he looked and deposit the new ones.  “These were from a Breton.  I know you like them.”

“Age?  Gender?”

“An older woman.”

“Gah.”

“But rich, so she’d been eating well.  She was the contract.”  He shrugs.  “I haven’t had time to pick up anything special.  Do you have a request?”

I try to sound casual.  “It’s been a while since you brought mer.”

“Hmm.”  He comes back to me, hauls up my chin with one finger.  How he loves that kind of condescending gesture.  “You’re looking pale, Vicente.  When was the last time you had anything fresh?”

“A few days.  There was a Redguard, on – Morndas, I think.”

“Hmm,” he says again.  “After you give Methusiele her new contract, you should go out hunting for a few days.  Perhaps it’s been too long.”

I used to binge-hunt:  I’d gorge for a week at a time, leaving dozens of bodies in my wake.  Staying at Lucien’s Sanctuary is actually the reason I feed that way so rarely now.  As he knows perfectly well.  Binge-hunters usually either keep to very large cities or wander out among out-of-the-way forts and enclaves.  In a city the size of Cheydinhal, my preferred style is too visible.  Here, I take an occasional tourist or beggar, and supplement with the blood Lucien brings me and some conventional human fare.  It is livable, but not really satisfying.

He knows that, too.  He wants me here, but he worries that one day I will snap and devour all my Brothers and Sisters.  As if I _would._   As if I would not have the whole city to feed on before I thought to break my vows.

“Perhaps,” I say, wondering where I would go for that kind of vacation.  Perhaps – perhaps the Imperial City or Bruma.  Maybe I would happen to eat someone Methusiele didn’t like.

“Methusiele’s contract,” I say.  “What is it?”

Ah, yes, that.  The old Breton blood comes from Lucien’s trip to make the arrangements, he says.  He explains the bargain, and I am annoyed on Methusiele’s behalf.

“You’re sending her out to _not_ kill this man,” I frown.  “When we’re expecting her to just now start enjoying her kills.”

He rolls his eyes impatiently.  “Exactly.  And being held back from killing such an irritating client is going to drive home to her how _much_ she enjoys it.  I do actually put some thought into this process, you may be surprised to know.”

“A lot of thought, for this one.”  I rise, finally, to my feet.  “A lot of interest.”

He cups my cheek and smirks at me.  “Are you jealous?”

Maybe.  But that’s not really what I am thinking about.

He reads it in my face, and goes serious and thoughtful.  “A lot of interest on your part, as well.  I don’t remember the last time you took a new recruit so personally.”

“Of course not!”  I push his hand away and step away toward my desk.  “You bring me beasts.  You bring me _Antoinetta._   And then finally, one lovely, civilized creature, and you’re surprised to see attachment.”

“You think she’s civilized?” he chuckles.  “You should see her work.”  He pauses, and adds more quietly, “ _Lovely_ I’ll grant you.”

The hand I have resting on the desk slowly clenches shut.  In my head I am watching the light fade from her pretty green eyes, watching for the first glimmer of red.

“Oh, no,” he says, with much more conviction.  “No, Vicente.”  He grabs my shoulder and turns me to face him again, his face stern.  “You cannot be thinking that, can you?”

How does he see these things?  From that small gesture, from one hand?  He is too attentive, he knows me too well.  “Thinking what, exactly?”

“Oh, Dread Father, you are.  Is that why you’re not feeding enough?  Are you _saving room?_ ”  He grabs me by the wrist and drags me to the cabinet, then snatches out one of the new bottles and shoves it at me.

“Drink this,” he says.  “Right now.”

What is the point of this exercise?  Does he think a vial of days-old blood does the slightest thing to dim the craving for perfect consummation? 

“Drink it,” he repeats, “and pull yourself together.  You are bound by the Tenets.  You are forbidden to hurt your Brothers and Sisters.”

“I would never hurt her,” I protest in a sulky voice.

He laughs.  “No.  You would _kill_ her and make her a vampire.”

“ _Almost_ kill her.  Take her to the point of transition, and no further.  It would not technically violate the Fifth Tenet.”

He is starting to look furious.  “I will not have two of you to deal with, Vicente.  It will not happen.  Drink.”

Well, if nothing else, it pleases his sense of dominance to see me do as he says.  I open the bottle and knock it back in a few swallows.  Thick and stale and tepid, as old blood always is.  It is like living on military rations.

“She would never agree anyway,” he says.  “She came to us wanting to be _extinguished_.  Don’t you see it?  I am only just managing to keep her attached to a mere mortal lifespan.  Your offer will not appeal.”

I would be helping her.  If she could drink directly from the wellspring of life, she would feel how precious it was.

“And if she refuses you and you’ve lost your head,” he goes on, “you’ll feel compelled to force her.”  He steps in close, his eyes gone ferocious.  “And then I will have to do something _very_ painful to you.”

A host of reasons for bitterness.  “My.  So protective, Lucien.”

“Of both of you.  She could _kill_ you, you know.  Breaking her is a dangerous enough process without your introducing this new variable.”  He sighs.  “Why can’t you be a normal man and just want to fuck her?”

That puts just the ghost of a smile on my face.  “Because you would never choose a normal man as your Silencer.  A normal man would bore you to death.”

We’re standing very close now, as we so often do, consciously or not, when we argue.  I can feel the heat of his life force from here.

He smiles back, just a little.  “I suppose that’s true.”

I bring a hand up to trace his cheek.  “It’s been a while.”  I kiss him just under the ear, letting the fangs brush gently against the skin to remind him what I mean.

“I know,” he sighs, touching the back of my head to encourage me to continue.  “There’s been too much work lately – I never have enough time to stay and recover afterward.   And today I’m – ”

A knock at the door.

I ask for so little.

“I’m _not here,_ ” he whispers harshly, and disappears.

I sigh and go to the door.

It’s Methusiele.  She smiles to see me:  she looks as happy and radiant as I ever remember seeing her.  I cannot help but let her come in.

“I take it Valen Dreth is deceased,” I say, wondering where not to step to avoid Lucien.  Well, he is well practiced at this:  it is his responsibility to keep himself out of the way.

“He is.  It was… quite satisfying.”

What a sweet little thrill that gives me.  I fetch her payment from my desk, and as I turn to look at her, standing there flush with triumph, a very wicked thought occurs to me.

How committed is Lucien to not showing himself?  If I seduce her right now – only sexually, no blood – will he stay hidden?  Will he stand and watch me with his new pet?  Which sentiment would win, anger or arousal?

“Vicente?” she says, and I snap back to attention.

“Yes, Methusiele.  Well done.”  I smile.  “You are like a _dark gift_ from the Night Mother herself.”

She thanks me, blushing.  As the blood rushes to her cheeks I remember what a dangerous game I am thinking of playing.  Even now, with my hunger being so modest, I am not really sure I can trust myself to take her sex without trying for her blood.  It is one thing to show Lucien a bit of cheek and another to openly defy him.  And it is harder to control the turning properly if it is interrupted, and I prefer not to take that chance either.

It _has_ been too long since I went out and fed properly:  my sense of smell is sharpening.  Her amber and cinnamon is starting to blend in the air around us with his clove, and the combination is perilously alluring.

She’s smirking.  “The contract?” she prompts me.  She seems to have no idea the kind of thoughts I’m coming to harbor toward her, the dear girl.  I tell her about the atrocious mockery of an assignment Lucien has given her – and since he’s in the room, I lay the blame at the Night Mother’s feet rather than his.

She is properly insulted.  She hints around for permission to kill the client.  I laugh, and I know that this is part of what her draw is for Lucien.  Not just power, but also that trace of impudence, that instinct toward less than perfect obedience.  The promise of a long and challenging game.  Like me.

As soon as she’s gone he appears again and grabs me by the hair.  “ _Dark gift from the Night Mother_ ,” he snarls.  “You think you’re so clever.”

“I am,” I grin, and give him the kiss I know he wants.  He responds forcefully:  he was as aroused by her visit as I was.

“But don’t bite,” he whispers as I graze down the side of his neck.  “I’m going to have to leave quickly.”

“You always do,” I complain, pulling off his cowl.  Then I whisper, “We could take her together, you know.”

He likes that:  I can feel him hardening.  I reach down to help him along.

He starts to unbutton my shirt.  “We could,” he purrs into my ear, “if I could trust you to behave yourself.  Unfortunately, I don’t think I can.”

“I am the most trustworthy vampire in Tamriel,” I grin.  Between kisses I pull off his robe, then his shirt.  I kneel for the pants, planting teasing kisses across his stomach as I unbuckle his belt.

“So,” I ask as I strip him, “has _she_ seen you this way yet?  Or are you still holding her at that you-haven’t-earned-it stage?”

He rubs the back of my head.  “The second one.”

“Oh dear.”  I lick up the length of his shaft once before I rise to my feet, and he gasps.  “You’re not nearly as far along with her as I thought.  All my worry for nothing.”

“You are so annoying when you _talk.”_   He kisses me deep, tries to silence me by wrestling my tongue down with his.  I chuckle as he pulls my pants off.  I let him move me to the slab and lay me down.  He prefers not to be in too vulnerable a position with me, so I always let him have the top.

He straddles my legs and lowers his mouth over me, and I let my eyelids fall shut with a sigh.  As I send a hand down to tug at his hair, he rolls his lips slightly over his teeth to add pressure.  He wants me moaning.

Instead I ask, “If you don’t trust me, why are all your weapons on the other side of the room?”

How silly of me:  he has to stop sucking to answer.  And of course he will not keep going with his hand, because I have to be punished.  “How far is your mouth from my throat right now?” he says.  “And I know you’re not hungry enough to try anything without permission.  I just fed you.”  He applies one soft kiss and one warning graze of teeth to my head.  “Is there anything else you want to talk about before I proceed?”

“No,” I say, and he falls back upon me with greater fire, driving away any impulse I might have had to talk again.  I arch my back and grace him with the moans he’s waiting for, since I can hardly help it.  The waves of pleasure overcome me quickly.

He always swallows.  He doesn’t like a mess.  Unless it’s blood.

He kisses my stomach a couple of times before he starts to move, forcing my legs open with his knee and moving to kneel between them.  I hand him the salve I always keep nearby, and watch him stroke it over himself.  I bend my legs to improve his angle of entry, but as I do, he looks down at me with a cruel smile.

“No,” he says.  “I’ve changed my mind.  Turn over.”

I come up onto my elbows and try to tempt him to reconsider by helping him with the salve.  As he knows, he is moving me out of my preferred position.  “Lucien – ”

“No, no, you’ve raised a good point.  I am being very naïve in letting you face me when I’m not armed.”  He moves one leg and then the other out from between mine.  “On your knees.  That way I’ll feel _safe._ ”

I growl as I turn.  Why did I agree to join the Brotherhood and obey the Tenets?  They give him an unfair advantage.  Any other vampire in my place would just turn back around and b-

He pushes into me hard, and I gasp.  I hang my head and continue to growl, though now with a somewhat different sentiment, as he pulls and pushes at my hips.  I start to rock in time with him, to let him come deeper, and I hear his breath quicken.

I wish I were in a position to do something with my mouth.  Not bite, necessarily.  Lick, kiss, suck.  Anything.

He yanks my head back by the hair, forcing me up onto my knees as his other hand slides down along my torso.  He teases the back of my neck with his tongue, and I hiss.  “Now,” he whispers, “are we feeling more cooperative?”

“Yes, Lucien,” I rasp.  So he shows mercy, placing a hand over my lips.  I draw two of his fingers into my mouth and suck at them gratefully, my eyes closing.  He quickens and comes, and I force myself not to bear down with my teeth.  We both sit back slightly, resting with me in his lap for a moment.  He puts his arms around my waist and kisses my back once, and I smile.  These little displays of affection between rounds make the game worth playing.

 


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vicente is in full blood lust mode, and now it will take all of Lucien's knowledge and skill to keep the game from turning lethal.

Her little fire splashes painfully across my chest, but I grin and continue to advance.  She is pulling her blows, hoping to get by with warnings.  If she is not ready to really hurt me, she will never stop me.

I grab her by the shoulders and pull her onto the floor.  She realizes that I am really going to do it, and begins to panic.  “Vicente,” she pleads, thinking that name will call back the gentle creature she thinks she knows.  “No.  _Vicente._ ”

I am helping her.  She will understand afterward.

She pushes against me as I rip open the robe and shirt that separate us.  She flails with a pleasing urgency as she serenades me with her _no_ s and _please_ s.  She has a flair for struggle that only further increases my sense of need.

I push her shoulders down onto the floor and tear into her throat.  She shrieks, sobs, claws frantically at my back as I begin to drink.  She has my rapt attention as she weakens and loses her grip on me, and the sobs gentle into tearful whimpers.  I reach up to her face, to feel at once the coolness of her wet cheeks and the warmth of her life pouring into my throat.

At my touch she musters one last whisper.  “Please… Vicen… ”  But that is all the strength she has left, and my name dies on her lips with a sigh.

Dread Father, but she is wonderful.  I am reluctant to break from her even for the sake of having off our pants:  she is almost there now, and every remaining drop of her blood is precious.  I unfasten mine, free myself, and that will do; but it will not be as simple with her.  I grab at the fabric and rip pieces of it away until I have unblocked my course, testing the route periodically with my fingers. 

Yes.  There.  I pound into her unresisting flesh, bringing my hands down to pry her cooling thighs further apart.  Her limp arms finally fall away from me completely, crashing to the floor.  The flow into my mouth is starting to slow – this is the moment.  I give the wound one more loving caress with my tongue and lift my head.  I slow in my thrusting temporarily as I bite into the side of my hand.  Most often the combination of sex and feeding is enough to make the turning happen, but I want to be quite sure. 

I press my fresh injury to her lips, dripping a little of my own cool blood into her mouth.  It does not take much – in fact vampires who have lost their passion will sometimes spawn by this alone, without the exchange of the Dark Gift.  I give her both tokens.  There must be no doubt that when she reaches Death’s door, he will send her back to me.

I look into her face.  Her golden skin has gone pale, and her eyes are beautiful green glass, unaware of me.  Her breathing is faint and shallow:  soon, briefly, it will be gone, and then I will watch her rise from her own ashes.  I smile, lick her motionless lips, and resume speed.

This time I rip myself away from the fantasy without an outside prompt.  It is too far.  It is too… too violent for my feelings toward Methusiele.  I do not want her to _fight_ me.

Do I?

I do.

I have gone too long without feeding.  I never intended to let myself get this ravenous.  At first I only thought I was too busy to go somewhere and binge like Lucien had suggested.  Then I was staying to be contrary, because he’d tried to send me away.  Then that perverse part of the hunger started to build, and I kept going hungry so that I would be stronger, so that I would be sure I could take her easily when I asked, when she came home from Chorrol wanting to be the killer we’ve made of her.

I thought the timing would work out.  Hungry, yes, strong, but not yet wild.  But now she’s _late._

I drink two bottles of the Breton blood, trying to tamp down the violence of my urges.  They are cold and dreadful, and though they dull the edge a little bit, my control still feels more tenuous than I would like.  Perhaps it would help if I tried to make them more palatable – I could take some up to the stove and heat them properly.  But everyone complains about the smell and the cleanup when I do that.

It is the wrong time of day to go away and hunt.  I pull at my face, frustrated.  Perhaps I can go and make some polite conversation with Ocheeva, and that will soothe my nerves.

No indeed.  Antoinetta has come home, and she is bragging – bragging about –

About Methusiele.  About how she confided her infatuation with the Arch-Mage to Lucien, and he arranged a liaison for them. 

I turn and go back to my room without speaking, because that is the only alternative to ripping out her vocal cords.  Fifth Tenet.  Fifth Tenet.  I should never have made the oath.  I vent by writing a letter to Ocheeva, merely _threatening_ the violence I want to do to Antoinetta, making the excuses Ocheeva will understand and leaving out everything about Methusiele or Lucien.

It cannot be anything but a deliberate affront to me.  By the Night Mother, to send her _Antoinetta._   To ensure that _Antoinetta_ has touched her before I do.  To impose such a thing on Methusiele, for that matter – she barely likes the girl any better than I do.  A test of her obedience, then?

No.  No, certainly a message to me.  Lucien means to assume complete control of access to Methusiele.  That is how fond he is becoming.

We shall see.

I meditate for a few minutes, draw the icy breath of Sithis into my rage to quell it.  That serves, at least, to restore my veneer of civility.  I calmly fold up the letter and put it in my desk.  I doubt I will ever really give it to Ocheeva, but I will keep it for now.

Still too early in the day to go out.  I will try Ocheeva again, doing my best to avoid the horrible little Breton.

But this time, I come into the main room to see Methusiele arriving.  She has come straight to us without stopping at her house:  she is still disheveled and a little weary looking from her travel.  My nerves dance a little as she sees me and comes to greet me first.  Of course she wants to see me.

So be it, my sweet darling.

I glance over to where Antoinetta is still babbling at Gogron.  I wonder if Methusiele will approve when she finds out how discreet the girl has been about their encounter.  “Shall we talk privately?” I ask her, offering my hand.

She smiles.  As I say, she likes Antoinetta little better than I do.  She follows willingly down into my private lair.  Sees nothing amiss when I close the door behind us.  She trusts me that completely.

I must measure my approach:  I must not rush.  There is time.  If Lucien is not already here pushing us apart then he is miles away.  “How was your last assignment?” I ask, keeping my voice cool.

“Disappointing,” she confesses, looking perplexed at herself for it.  “It felt – it felt incomplete.  Because I didn’t kill anyone.”

Just as Lucien wanted.  How smug he’ll be.  But it is a pleasing development for me too, so I smile.  “You wish you could have.”

“We kill,” she says.  “We destroy.  I have always been a destroyer.”

My heart leaps at what a beautiful, prescient thought that is.  I ply her with gifts – the necklace Lucien left for her, which of course I do not attribute to him, and her promotion, and a key to the well.

The last makes her beam, and I wish I’d thought to give it sooner, with or without Lucien’s permission.  She has always come away from the main door unhappy, sometimes even trembling.  I do not know what dark thought it stirs in her, but it must somehow dredge up painful memory in the way that the Imperial City and Bruma do.

“And finally,” I say, “I would like to make you an offer.”  There, I am still in control of myself.  I am going to do it the nice way.

She looks at me, her eyes still friendly and open.

“I know that you have killed my kind before.  But you and I have gotten along very well, I think.”  She glances down at my collarbone, a little flushed, which is bewitching.  Touchingly demure.  “I like to hope that I have changed your mind about us.”

I move closer to her, into the aura of her amber scent.  Watch it cross her mind what I am, what I am about to ask.  “If I have… I would like to offer you the Dark Gift.  I can make you one of us.”

She will not look into my eyes.  I see uncertainty play across her face.  I am not discouraged:  even those who accept freely often feel uncertain at first.

“No,” she says, very quietly.  “I’m sorry.”

So it’s to be that way.  Now that I know, I find this scenario no less pleasing.  “Are you sure?” I ask, pressing my fingers into her shoulders – still gently, for now.  I can feel her starting to tense.  I would have expected her to know better:  now that I am close to having her, even this little sign of resistance is seductive. 

I tease at her shoulder with my mouth.  “That would be so unfortunate,” I whisper.  “I kept myself hungry for you.”

A familiar, angry voice from the door.  “She said no.”

Lucien.  The intrusion is even more unwelcome than when I was only fantasizing.  I turn to glare at him without letting go of my prize.  Why did I not hear him open the door?  Am I that far gone?

“And you know better than to do this without my leave,” he says.

As if I should have to ask for his _leave_.  He really thinks rather too much of himself.  But the interruption does remind me that originally, I hadn’t intended to have her afraid and fighting.  I can remember intending to be gentle.

I turn back to look at her, and I know that I cannot let her go.  I will have to enthrall her, make quick work of Lucien, and come back to her.  It is not ideal:  I would have preferred not to have to divide my attention.  “Forgive me, Methusiele.  But you are so – ”

“ _Vicente!_ ” he shouts, and I can feel her jump as if it was her name and not mine.  She’s afraid of him.  Once she’s mine, she will not be.  I turn ready to lash out at him, but then I see the weapon he has lifted between us.

“It is _this_ knife,” he tells me, and I am forced to give it my full attention.  I remember it well:  we met over the point of _this_ knife.  It is a painful one, a burning one, capable of real harm.  I seldom see it any more – he must have thought I would be quite out of control by the time he got here.

I am not.  I am still thinking clearly.  I cannot be held responsible for the way his scent and hers mingle in the room, how thick and intoxicating that is.

Yes.  Yes, I think I am hungry enough to take them both.  If I can create the opportunity to disarm him.

I step back slowly from lovely Methusiele, and he follows me with the point of his dagger.  He orders her to go – what a horrible mistake I’ve made, leaving her a clear path to the door: now I might have to chase her down – and me to drink more awful, stale sludge in place of her.

Surely he cannot misunderstand me this badly, after all our time together.  “It will not do,” I snarl at him.  “As you know.  I was going to turn her.  A bottle of old blood will not _suffice._ ”

He growls.  Of course he knows.  How often have we flirted with this, he and I?  How many times has he allowed me to take him just to the edge?  How many times have I allowed him to balk and cut me short like a timid virgin?

She has not gone.  “Don’t hurt him,” she says.  She says it to him, about me.

I grin, triumphant.  There, brilliant Lucien.  This is what happens when you’re a bastard.  Even when you are painting yourself her savior and me a monster, she likes _me_ , because I am better to her.  Now stand aside and let me have her, and perhaps you will finally understand what you keep turning down.

“Don’t _hurt_ him,” he echoes.  It is difficult not to laugh at him.  He sputters about it for a moment, and she only stands there resolute, determined to protect me from him.  It is so perfect, beyond any of the versions of this day that I imagined.

Finally he collects his wits.  “There are two hungers at work here.  You are willing to help assuage the lesser?”

“Yes, I am,” she says.

He has actually erased her hesitation for me:  she will come willingly into my arms if she thinks she is only having sex with me.  “You are a precious girl,” I whisper.

Then I realize what his plan must be.  That it is possible that even this moment is part of another of his elaborate designs – and not just to make himself her rescuing knight.  It is also about me, my desire for her, my mention of the three of us together.  He is arranging for me to have a partial version, a reflection of the thing I want, but entirely under his control and on his terms.  And at the same time, ensuring that I will not get it again without his leave.

He is such a gorgeous, perfect bastard.

And he is assuming that he can offer me a piece of my desire without my taking the rest.

She closes the door he has left open, and then he sends her to fetch the potion he always leaves at least one vial of here.  I keep telling him that any good healing potion will prevent the turning if given before the transition, but he insists on the expensive one that includes some of the herbs reputed to cure vampirism.  It’s his money.

I’ll have to do him first.  Neutralize the one with the knife.  I lick my lips.  Today he is not going to stop me.  Today I will not be denied.

He lowers the dagger, inviting me.  “Now, Vicente.”

I throw him against the wall next to the door, feel the wind knocked out of him as we crash.  My teeth dig into him high on his neck, and I am awash in his beautiful clove smell.  I feel him tense for a moment and then relax again as the familiar flavor of his blood pours into me.  I press down with my lips as I drink him in adoringly and cradle his lolling head in my hand.

I follow him down as his legs buckle, weakness starting to overtake him.  I take him by the waist and hold him to me, support him.  Today I am not going to stop.  He will be mine, really mine, and then we will make Methusiele ours together.  I suck his life into me with happy abandon.

His arms are hanging, his grip on his precious dagger loose:  he is on the edge of fainting.  Then I will have to decide whether to make love to him with Methusiele still ahead of us, or turn him with a few drops of my blood.  When I have imagined this moment I have always chosen the former, but I don’t want to deprive myself of Methusiele, either.  We might have to bind her somehow, save her for a little later.

But that is beginning to sound a bit unreasonable.  I can remember wanting to take her nicely.  The bloodlust is quieter now that Lucien’s warmth is filling me, and I can remember –

Dread Father, has he done this to me again?

“Enough,” he mumbles, his voice faint, still conscious by sheer stubborn will.

He has.  He has given me just enough to let me remember that I love them, and that when rational, I am a man of my word.  Just enough that I will stop when he tells me.  Damn him.

“Enough!” he says again, and even musters a feeble push against my shoulders.

It would only take a little more.  Just a little more to win this game forever.

I stop, and assuage my disappointment by letting my other lusts come to the fore.  She brings him his stupid potion as I am kissing his ear and licking clean the last bits of blood my other kisses have left on his face.

I can see the strength and clarity already returning to him as he drinks, and that means I won’t be allowed to turn her, either.  She’ll remember that she told me no, and he will hold me to it.

Now that I am not going to force her, I feel the sting of her rejection.  I take it out on Lucien, since it’s his fault.  “You always reject me too,” I tell him, as if he’s been listening to my thoughts.  “You always stop me just short.”

He scoffs at me.  “If you turned me I wouldn’t be edible any more.  We couldn’t keep doing this.  Then what fun would you have?”  Then he starts returning my kisses properly, with all the vigor that is coming back to him.

He may have a point.

She comes to clean his wound – a whiff of amber as she raises her golden hand close to my mouth, past me to the bite.  She pushes back his hood and studies him with care, reminding me that she has not seen him uncloaked before.  He is including me in that stage of their unfolding relationship.  This is the kind of thing that passes between us instead of pretty, romantic words.

She attends to his neck, whispering spells over it, strengthening the cinnamon for just a few seconds.  Her green eyes glimmer.  She is so beautiful, and I want her.  And – and perhaps he’ll just let me taste her.  I can stop well before the point where I stop with him, if he wants to be that nervous about it.

“You are so good, Methusiele,” I say, breathing her in.  I hold her shoulder, encouraging her to be still as I draw toward her.

Lucien pulls me back.  He is recovering more quickly than usual:  having something to regain control of must be motivating.  “No,” he snarls.  “No, no.  Your lips will not touch her.  They are too close to your _teeth._ ”

“She’ll think you’re jealous, Lucien,” I smile.

“She can think what she likes,” he growls, “but it is an order, and you will follow it on your oath to Sithis.” 

He is not even going to let me _kiss_ her, let alone taste her.  He knows how cruel that is.  As he watches the hurt bloom across my face, he adds, “But do as you like with your hands.”

I have already given away my chance to beat him:  now I will have to take what he offers me.  I should never have taken the vows.

She adjusts herself to face me, and slowly, seductively, opens and removes her shirt.  She has a long, lovely throat, and her breasts are full without being excessive.  I want to lick them and cannot.  Instead I trace my fingers gently down the sides of her neck and onto her shoulders, and then down – and I am interrupted by Lucien pulling my own shirt away.  I start again as he presses in behind me, hands caressing my shoulders and back.  I can feel his chest against me as I take her breasts into my hands and watch her eyes moving back and forth between us, caution giving way to desire.  I stroke toward her nipples with my thumbs, and he kisses my shoulder.  I am swooning already with pleasure.

“I will try to keep my oath,” I murmur, “but you must help me.  She is so tempting, and the two of you together – ”

He wraps an arm around me lovingly, and the dagger presses against my stomach, sending a thrill through me.  “I am watching,” he purrs.  He licks the side of my neck, and I respond with a happy shiver.

He bids her watch me for a moment, and she nods and brings tiny flames across her fingertips.  I know that she can do much more, but in this case the effect is more enchanting than intimidating, and I watch the pretty display and caress her – which only improves the show by making her arch and writhe just slightly.  Lucien’s embrace is gone, but I can tell by watching her face that he is disrobing behind me.  I see it dawn on her how attractive he is, and how all the scars he feels compelled to hide only make him more so.  It is amusing.

I open her pants and reach in, find her lips already parted and wet, and stroke there gently.  She writhes more, and her chin quivers a little as she fights to keep her concentration.  Sithis forbid she should forget her spell:  I might lunge forward and bite her.  I might claim a bit more from her than would be quite _safe_.  Her little struggle excites me.

When Lucien comes back to me, his skin is bare against mine.  The dagger returns as well, which is not unpleasant.  “Take them off, then,” he says to her, and she rises and pulls her pants down.  Lovely.  The swell of her hips and the short, oddly straight hair of her mound are momentarily at my eye level.  The scent of her sex is perilously close.

_That_ I could drink and not turn her, you know, Lucien.  And if I accidentally bit into her thigh, well –

I must sway forward a little at the thought, enough to broadcast it, because he grabs into my hair and wrenches my head back.  I laugh.  It was worth a try.

He pulls until I am laid out on the floor, and he is kneeling behind my head, the dagger now at my throat.  He traces it across the skin lightly, and I have to watch his eyes rather than the woman.  I’m not really quite sure he won’t cut me if I give him the chance.  As she strips me naked, as she runs her fingers through my hair, as she comes to straddle me, I am watching him and not her.

Only as much as he wants to give me, and only on his terms.  Beautiful, cruel Lucien.

I feel her envelop me, and it is everything I had hoped.  I clutch at her hips, gripping into the soft flesh with an intensity I hope will not bruise her.  She responds by moaning and dragging her nails down my chest.  We move together deliciously, as if we have already done this a thousand times.

I wish I was in a position to – Lucien bends to kiss me, and I suck his tongue into my mouth greedily.  I am dizzy from how perfect the moment is, the depth of his kiss, the warmth of being inside her, the way we are all beginning to sigh together.  I grab her to me, start to impose my rhythm on her.  When I stop myself I am on the edge of delirium, but I think, perhaps – perhaps I can press for one thing more.

“Let me kiss her,” I plead.

He smiles at me.  “No.”

Selfish bastard.  “Lucien.  I will not bite her.  I just want – ”

“I know what you want,” he snarls, pressing in just a little with the dagger.  “And I know that I can’t trust you not to take it.  You will not taste any part of her.”

Fine.  Fine, you selfish bastard.  I glance down at her, watch her breasts bounce as she rides me for a moment.  Lovely, lovely girl.  We will have to try this again without the selfish bastard here. 

I return my gaze to my smug, darling Speaker, and reach back for him.  “Then you have to give me something.  Distract me.”  I lick the air between us.  Yes, in this he will oblige me:  he moves forward to give me access, and I roll my head back to take him into my mouth.  I suck him in with such force that he falls forward gasping, and for just a second he actually loses control.

If I really were as untrustworthy as he treats me like I am, I would have had him then.  Two near misses in one day.  One of us must be slipping.

As he loses his grip on the precious dagger she grabs it up and puts it against my hip.  I can feel them lean in toward each other, and I suppose they are kissing:  the angle brings me deeper into her, and I feel her tighten as she squeals into his mouth.  I place a hand over the one holding the dagger, and find her other hand and hold it as well.  I am not going to be able to withstand this much pleasure for much longer.

Sweet, sweet Methusiele.

I pull him deeper into my throat, and moan, and we come almost together.  I shake, release them both, and lie very still for a moment as they fall away on either side of me.  The lesser hunger is sated, and the greater at least back under control.  I float in that peace with my eyes closed until they start to speak.

“Is it safe now?” she asks.

And I remember that in her mind, she was not safe.  She and Lucien do not see the turning as I do:  they see it through frightened mortal eyes.  They see pain and death where I see love and life.

I remember that I had wanted to take her gently, because I did not want her to be afraid, to feel unsafe.  But it is so easy for me to forget when the hunger takes me.  I become selfish.

“Almost,” he tells her, and sends her away.

I should have gone hunting when he told me to.  I should not have been so impatient.  Now it is going to take so much longer.

He brings me a bottle of old, dreary blood, to make sure I have taken enough to be soothed into reason.  “Use all of them if you need to,” he says.  “I will bring you more.”

I know that.  I drink, more to please him than out of hunger.  Now that the euphoria of our sex is fading I feel a bit morose.  “Thank you, Lucien.  But poor Methusiele – I should – ”

“Apologize another time, when you are yourself.  Drink, and rest.”

Of course.  It will be some time before I see her again, I suspect.  Longer before I see her alone. 

He leaves me, and I can hear them whispering in the hall outside my door.  He is establishing himself as the hero who has rescued her from me.

There – that opportunity is lost.  I see now that it was a mistake to let myself get that hungry, that desperate.  I frightened Methusiele and provoked Lucien, and now they will both be more guarded against me.

Lucien will still come to see me.  He is as addicted to our game as I am:  he will not be able to stay away.  But I feel sure he will block my access to Methusiele now, and she will allow it.  I have lost her trust.

It is disheartening, but I can recover.  I will not repeat my error:  I will make sure I have always fed recently when we expect her home.  I will scrupulously obey whatever strictures they place on my time with her.  I will show Methusiele my repentance and Lucien my submission, and eventually they will soften, and I will have another chance.

I need not be impatient.  She is mer, after all.  If she is careful, she will last for hundreds of years even without my help.  We have all the time in the world

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to Twist Shimmy for beta and, in fact, persuading me to write it in the first place


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